


Stag Night

by felixies



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drunk John, Drunk Sherlock, Drunk Texting, Drunken Confessions, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1229284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felixies/pseuds/felixies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Are you sure you're up for the pub crawl? You're not really the social type."</p><p>"I'll be fine. I even created an app to track John's liquid consumption and discharge to ensure he enjoys this night in optimum."</p><p>Yup. This is how Sherlock puts together a stag night, and you are witness to its aftereffects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stag Night

"You asked Molly to do what?" In the flat that you and Sherlock share, you hold the map that Sherlock has planned for John's stag night.

"It's a pub crawl. Don't people celebrate the end of their bachelor freedom by imbibing mass amounts of alcohol?"

"Yeah, but not based on places where you both found a dead body. It's just -"

"I thought themes were appropriate for these sorts of situations," Sherlock explains as he dons his overcoat and scarf. Ever since you moved into the Baker street flat, you have not once seen him go out of his way to socialize. It's no wonder seeing how close he is to John, making it more believable that he has made Sherlock his best man. 

"I have never seen you drink a great deal, not even during the Christmas party. You sure you're up for this?" you ask as you straighten out his scarf. Any kind of physical touch makes you happy. It wasn't until recently that you discovered how much you care about him, making it so much harder to suppress and deny whenever he is in your company. You know that he can never give you what want: love and affection. 

"I'll be fine. I even created an app to track John's liquid consumption and discharge to ensure he enjoys this night in optimum," he reassures, holding up his phone. His quirks will be the end of you. His good looks can bring any person to their knees, but his silver tongue can bring any person to punch his face. You roll your eyes as you push him out the door.

"Well be sure not to wake me when you two come stumbling back. Also, call me if you two end up in a bind."

"What can you do? You won't be able to support our weight if we need assistance." You know he's not trying to insult you. He's just practical. 

"Yeah, well, just keep that in mind. Tell John and Greg I say hello." Content with being alone in the flat for the first time in a long while, you take it upon yourself to clean and straighten up. Hours go by and you are fast asleep on the sofa with a novel on your chest. The slam of the door downstairs wakes you up. You glare at the clock. "It's only nine?" You walk over to where the sound originated, finding two bodies at the bottom of the staircase. You see the familiar short blond hair and curly black hair. 

"What is all that knocking? Go away! I don't case tonight!" Sherlock complains. You sit on the steps just above the heads of the consulting detective and his blogger. 

"Welcome back, boys," you smirk. Both men turn up towards you. "Did you have fun out?"

"You are not our mother. Make some biscuits and plate some tea," John grumbles. 

"Okay, get up," you push both John and Sherlock up from the steps. You pull John up the staircase with Sherlock in tow. You push John back on the couch as you sigh at the sight of Sherlock struggling to take off his coat. 

"You look like a muppet," John laughs as he writhes on the sofa. 

"Well you look like a lightbulb," Sherlock insults, pointing his finger to the skull on the mantelpiece. 

You take Sherlock's hand and pull him to his bedroom. "Come on, Sherlock. It's time for bed." He sits on his bed and attempts to take off his shoes, unsuccessfully as he lies back in defeat. You cannot believe the sight in front of you. "How many drinks did you have tonight?" He is ever searching for the number as he finally holds up six fingers with pride in his face. You kneel down and take off his shoes. "Six drinks in two hours? You boys partied hard. Did Greg ever meet you?"

"Who's Greg?" Sherlock grumbles. 

"Lestrade."

"George is not my handler. He wasn't missed." You undo his scarf and pull the covers over him. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm tucking you in bed. You need to sleep this off. I'll leave water, aspirin, and a wastebasket for you just in case." You brush the hair away from his heavy-lidded eyes. "Sleep well, Sherlock." You start your way out of his room when you hear him mutter, "Goldfish." You turn back around. "Goldfish, Sherlock?"

"Yeah. You. Goldfish. Ash." Confused with his words you wait for him to continue, but find him passed out. "It's just nonsense," you mutter to yourself. Unable to resist you sit back down on his bed. You trail your fingers over his hand. Curious, you pull out his phone to see what he tracked over the night. You smile as you see how methodical he is with logging how many beers they drank. "Four beers. What amateurs." A text alert comes up. "Where the bloody hell are you? I've been waiting for over an hour now! GL" 

You smile as you text back, "Sorry, Greg. They started earlier than expected and crashed hard back at the flat."

In no time he texts back, "Thanks, love. I'll be sure to get them back for being lightweights. Night. GL"

You close the door behind you to find John passed out on the sofa, cuddling a bottle of whiskey. You manage to pry it out of his grasp as you settle a pillow and blanket for him. You make your way up to your room, formerly John's, and flop on the bed. Enthralled by what he meant by goldfish, you don't notice the light flashing from your phone. Your phone battery was low so you left it in your room while you tidied up the den. This is the first time this night you are able to come back to your bedroom. You see at least ten texts and three voicemails all from the past two hours. "Sherlock and John," you smile to yourself as you check the messages. 

"John doesn't look happy. Should I play a game with him? SH"

"Sherlock's tracking my drinks and when I use the loo. Make him stop! John"

"There is a bar just for men. So much glitter. So festive. SH"

"I think Sherlock just took me to a gay bar. John"

"Disregard the last text. They started flirting with John and we dashed. SH"

"I'm spiking the drinks. He's still too uptight. John"

"Drink had more drink than other drinks. SH"

"Sherlock chatting blokes. Bet he dances. John"

"You have mud eyes and shiny teeth. SH"

"I know ash! All of them. SH"

You laugh at how progressively worse their texts are, especially Sherlock. Unable to control yourself, you giddily hurry to listen to his voicemails to you. "What am I suppose to talk to John about? The pubs are too loud for any decent conversation. So droll."

"Come get us! We're being pursued by strappy men in tight leather shorts and boots!" 

As you play the last one, you hear footsteps on the stairs. Chalking that up as Mrs. Hudson, you listen to the voicemail. "You are bloody brilliant! It's me by the way. Sherlock. Obvi. I don't say this to you or anyone ever, but you are so darling with your eyes and smile. I could just pick you up and keep you in my pocket all day. You talk about people I don't care about too much and you don't make tea like John. But you are there for me when I need you, which is always. I need you, always. My goldfish. Hold on, I hear someone talking about me. Look, mate, I know ash." The last part blurs as you hear scraps. "Let go of me, John! I was trying to confess my affections to her. Now she'll think I'm a ponce!" 

His affections? Goldfish. You know you heard that word said before here. Then it clicks. "Mycroft," you whisper. You hear the footsteps stop just short of your door. No movement. You walk to the door and with it open, you see a bleary-eyed Sherlock standing in front of you, holding his phone. "You got my texts?" he asks. You nod. "I was drunk."

"I'm sure you're still drunk," you point out. His blanket covers his top, but see his trousers still on. He's barely able to stand up on his own. You move out of the way for him to come in and sit on your bed.

"Did you read them all?" he hesitantly asks. 

"From you and from John. If I got them earlier I would have joined you both in the fun," you joke. You recite, "I have mud eyes and shiny teeth. You really know how to woo a girl."

"And the phone calls?" You sit next to him and replay all the messages he left for you. He flops back on your bed and tries his best to cover himself from you and from life itself with his blanket. "I'm never like this normally. I sound like a berk." You slowly unwrap his blanket cocoon, finding his blue eyes match yours. 

"Is everything you said all true?"

"I do know ash," he replies. You can't help kissing him as he wraps his blanket over the both of you. The warmth and comfort of his body overcomes you. As you break away the kiss, you brush away the hair covering his eyes. 

"I know you do, goldfish."


End file.
